


Envoi: Coronations, Cuckoldry And Collapse (1911)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [291]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1910s, Brome - Freeform, Cuckolding, Destiel - Freeform, Disappointment, Exhaustion, F/M, Family, Gay Sex, Hotels, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Old Age, Retirement, Sussex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-21 12:46:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ A new Georgian Era. Ellen and Bobby get what they wanted (six times over), there are two deaths in the Holmes family one of which leads to all sorts of complications, and Sherlock and John go to London to meet one very exhausted Scotsman. Oh, and there are panties again!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelodyofWings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodyofWings/gifts).



**1911**

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

That summer England was ablaze with colour as the country marked the coronation of our new monarch. There was I thought, something almost desperate in the people’s urge to celebrate while they could; after the Tangiers and Bosnian Crises the Germans had again been forced to back away from Morocco because the British had stood by their French allies. But our luck could not hold for ever, hence the urge to party like it was still the nineteenth century. 

On this particular day we had exchanged the countryside for the seaside, paying a surprise visit to Mr. and Mrs. Singer who still ran _'The Roadhouse'_ in Eastbourne. The little resort was like our own Casdene bedecked in red, white and blue, and several roads had been closed off for street parties. I smiled both at that and the frankly frazzled looks on the faces of the elderly couple.

“It was good to see that Jo and Ash are all right”, Sherlock observed politely.

Our former landlady gave him a dirty look; we had timed our visit to overlap that of the Lindbergs and their six children. Yes, _six_ children. I remember our last year in Baker Street and the _'Marseilles'_ case when our former landlady had been despairing of ever becoming a grandmother, but shortly after that her son-in-law had finally got his finger (or something) out and her daughter had been popping out little Lindbergs on a regular basis ever since. Naming the first two Robert and Ellen had been a smart move for the father which was probably why he was allowed to keep the appendages that had enabled him to have more. The others had been Janet (Mr. Lindberg's mother), William (Mrs. Singer's ill-starred first husband), Peter (Mr. Lindberg's father) and Rufus (Mr. Singer’s friend back in the United States).

“One child exhausted me”, Mrs. Lindberg sighed. “Having six of the little blighters here at once…. It makes me really feel my age.”

“John is sixty next year”, chirped a certain blue-eyed genius who wasn’t getting lucky that evening. Probably. I glared at him.

“I thought that you would both find retirement a lot more difficult”, Bobby Singer observed. “Get yourself dragged back every time there was a suspicious death or a political crisis in the offing.”

“I made it clear that fifty was as far as I was prepared to go”, Sherlock said firmly. “Apart from the matter of John’s friend Mr. Warburton and, well, a certain affair involving laundry items, I have kept to that.”

I looked at him In horror as the elderly couple both leaned forward, clearly agog.

“ _Do_ tell!” Ellen Singer grinned. 

The bastard wasn't getting lucky all week now!

He gave me a pointed look.

Probably?

֍

“Something is bothering you”, I said as walked along the sea-front later that day. We were to spend the night at a hotel in the town, _'The Roadhouse'_ being fully booked, and then most of the next day with the Singers so there was no hurry. “Is it to do with your father’s passing?”

Sir Charles Holmes had died the month before and Sherlock had found the funeral particularly painful. Worse, the fellow's will had only added fuel to the fire. The entire Holmes wealth was to be run by a trust for the remainder of Lady Rebecca’s life, and once she passed it was to split into six parts. Five were to be run by and for Lucius, Gaillard, Bacchus, Sherlock and their sister Anna, while the sixth would be split equally between Mycroft Holmes and his offspring. This meant six of the latter each received small sums; it would have been seven had not young Midas Holmes recently chosen to ignore warnings about not touching things on the Volk's Electric Railway In Brighton. It had been a fitting end to a short life mostly spent thinking that he was somehow immune to having to follow instructions.

Despite his dreadful behaviour over the years Mr. Mycroft Holmes had somehow convinced himself that he should still have inherited everything, so inevitably there had been an argument and Sherlock had returned ruffled and upset. I had had to let him have his way with me for twenty-four hours to make him feel better. Honestly, the things that I put up with for that man!

“The telegram that came before we left this morning was from Luke”, he said, trying to pat down his impossible hair. “Or from Sandy; he says what is left of my elder brother cannot hold a pen just now. They say that Mycroft did take legal advice on challenging the will but was told that he was all but certain to fail.”

I wondered when my limbs were going to forgive me and start working again.

“That is good, is it not?” I asked thinking that a day in bed might have its upsides. Provided I did not have to do anything complicated, like moving.

“Luke also spoke to me about another matter”, he said looking at me rather oddly. “He had a message for me from Miss Bradbury concerning your niece Emmeline.”

I sighed unhappily. Three years ago my nephew Jack had married one Miss Emmeline Jane Garvey-Barnett whom Sherlock had immediately categorized as a ‘First-Class With Honours Complete Airhead’, an appellation with which I had soon been forced to agree (even the saintly Jessica had confided to us her opinion that if we stood close enough to her daughter-in-law we could probably hear the sea!). At the end of that year Emmeline had given birth to twins James and Joanna, but it had soon become clear that she and her husband were ill-matched and that she would and did flirt (and sleep) with just about any available male. She had even succeeded in wrangling an introduction to our lecherous late king which had only been scuppered when that monarch had shuffled off this mortal coil just days before she had been due to meet him. He had been lucky so to do!

“She has been openly seeing a Hungarian businessman”, Sherlock said slowly, “which is why she had drawn my brother’s attention. I am sorry John, but it has been going on for some little time. It may be even that the child she is now carrying…..”

He tailed off. Poor Jack. My nephew came over as someone who was always bright and breezy but I knew that he did truly love his flibbertigibbet of a wife, and that this would hurt him greatly.

“The relationship with Mr. Budar is all but over”, Sherlock reassured me, “as the fellow in question is returning to his home country very soon. But your niece – a leopard does not change its spots, they say.”

I sighed unhappily.

“Come on”, he said, “and we shall see if I can take you away from all your worries.”

“That would be difficult”, I said heavily.

He was suddenly right next to me.

“I am wearing your favourite panties!” he whispered in my ear.

My limbs moaned in unison. But at least one part of me was suddenly very happy!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

**1911**

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

 

The cottage needed minor repair work done that September so we took the opportunity for a short stay in London where we planned to meet up with some old friends of ours. Mr. Byron Blackwater had brought his friends Mr. Dane and Mr. Lannister down to mark their fortieth birthdays which occurred within a few days of each other. We had expected to see our friend in somewhat better state that the last time we had met as we knew his two charges' 'heats' were supposed to wind down by the time they reached forty. But when we met him at a small London hotel, it seemed that they had not wound down _that_ much.

“Poor Bronn”, Mr. Lannister sighed. “Your invitation caught us just at the end of our heats, and it was the second time we had decided to stay in rather than go to a nearby town or village. We had to virtually carry him to the station at Parton; he was so grateful to you springing for a sleeper car that he slept the whole way down.”

I looked hard at Mr. Lannister, who blushed.

“Maybe not all the way”, Mr. Dane admitted, also blushing for reasons I could well guess. “Bronn, love?”

Mr. Lannister nudged Mr. Blackwater who blearily opened his eyes and looked unfocussedly at us both.

“You”, he grumbled, “have a lot...... to answer for!”

I sniggered. He was clearly not that annoyed, especially when Mr. Lannister pulled him upright into a manly embrace and Mr. Dane crossed to sit with them.

Mr. Blackwater was asleep again before we left. Only briefly though, judging from the pleasured moan that we heard through the hotel door!

“I think that I forgot my keys”, Sherlock said brightly.

I gave him such a look!

֍


	3. Chapter 3

**1911**

_[Narration by Doctor John Watson, M.D. (retired)]_

There was one more event of note that year and it was bittersweet indeed; my son Ben's marriage to a Miss Anne Gower at the start of this year produced a grandson named after him on Boxing Day. I was now a grandfather, yet I could not do anything about it.

Life was unfair at times.

֍


End file.
